


Five Times Things Didn't Quite Work Out for Sherlock and Once There Was Nothing But Pumpkin Pie

by milkywayhitchhiker



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5+1 Things, Halloween, Kid!Lock, M/M, au-ish, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkywayhitchhiker/pseuds/milkywayhitchhiker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time John Watson met Sherlock Holmes, he was wearing a huge hat with red feathers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dear Avery

A delighted smile spread on Martha’s lips when she caught sight of the two figures standing on her doorstep. She reached for the fraught basket placed on the low table next to the door and swung open the door of 221 Baker Street.

“Trick or treat!” the two voices rang simultaneously– the deeper sounding just a bit reluctant. 

“Happy Halloween, Mrs Hudson,” the older boy added.

“Mycroft! It’s so nice of you boys to stop by,” she smiled at the young man standing in front of her. Apart from the pale white face and – hopefully deliberately – tattered clothes, he was looking good. Martha couldn’t quite recall his exact age, but she guessed he was somewhere in the middle of his teens – which would explain the pained expression on his face, and the way he hunched his shoulders and shoved his free hand in his pocket. The other was clutching an orange paper bag with black bats and ghosts all over it.

“Still not too old for sweets,” Mrs Hudson thought- and then the cringe of feathers caught her eyes. From where she was standing, she couldn’t see anything, but a bush of crimson feathers and a large black hat. “And who is this little young man?” she asked, crouching down to get a better view.

“I’m Captain Henry Avery, King of the pirates-”

“That’s my brother, Sherlock,” Mycroft interrupted the kid with a tired huff.

“Ah yes, Sherlock! My god, how you have grown! It’s been... how many? At least 3 years since I last saw you boys... And now look at you! You’re almost a man grown, Mycroft. And your costume is brilliant! Who are you?”

“I’m a dead man,” the boy said, his emotionless voice delivering the perfect impression. When Mrs Hudson turned to his brother, he gave a soft sigh and closed his eyes tightly.

“So... king of the pirates, are you, Sherlock?” Martha asked, crouching in front of the little boy. Sherlock was wearing a white jerkin with black sleeves and cooper buttons, shiny black boots and that huge hat with red feathers pinned to it. He was dragging a small, boat-shaped cart behind him, waiting to be filled with sweets. He studied her with intense sea-coloured eyes. “I thought that was Blackbeard.”

“Wrong,” Sherlock said without even blinking. The coldness of his soft voice took Mrs Hudson aback.

“I’m sorry?”

“Edward Teach was never proclaimed King of the pirates. He was a good, but vicious pirate who robbed and slaughtered wherever he went. Henry Avery, however, was dubbed the Arch Pirate even by his contemporaries.”

Martha looked up at Mycroft, who shot her a stinging glance and sharply shook his head. But the maturity of the little boy fascinated Martha beyond measure. So she said anyway.

“I’ve never heard of him.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and opened his mouth. “Henry Avery, also known as Long Ben, the Arch Pirate or King of the pirates was the most notorious English pirate at the end of the 17th century. As captain of the Fancy and the perpetrator of the most profitable pirate raid in history, Avery showed excellent strategic skills and made his name by never being captured or killed in battle. He was born in Newton Ferrers-”

Martha wasn’t sure how long Sherlock could’ve continued if Mycroft didn’t clamp his hand over his mouth.

“Thank you, Sherlock, I think Mrs Hudson heard just enough.”

Sherlock looked deeply disappointed. Mrs Hudson staggered to her feet, trying to process the rush of data that just seemed to pour out of the boy every time he opened his mouth.

The pain became even more intense on Mycroft’s face, if that was even possible. But he accepted the candy from the basket regardless.

“I’m sorry,” he smiled tiredly. “He keeps reading these old books about pirates. I think he’s a bit obsessed with them,” he shook his head.

“How’s your mother, Mycroft? How come she didn’t come with you tonight?” Martha asked, trying to change the subject.

“Mummy has a headache,” Sherlock murmured while scanning the basket.

“She has a migraine,” Mycroft corrected him. “And it’s your fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Sherlock objected, studying the caramel wrapped in shiny golden paper in his palm. “I was just telling her stories. About the pirates...” he trailed off and  
put the candy back into the basket. He picked out another one – a metallic blue triangle – and sniffed it.

“Oh for god’s sake, Sherlock! Just take one already,” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “We have other houses to go to.”

“Yes, so he can get more candy,” Sherlock said to Mrs Hudson, finally settling for a cream-filled bonbon. “By the age of 30, he’s going to develop diabetes.”

“Come on, Sherlock,” Mrs Hudson shook her head. “What could a 6-year old like you possibly know about diabetes?”

It was as if someone ignited a spark in those aqua eyes.

“Diabetes mellitus type 2, also known as adult onset-diabetes is a metabolic disorder caused by relative insulin deficiency or insulin resistance. This type covers about 90% of the patients who suffer from diabetes, the remaining 10% being diabetes mellitus type 1 and gestational diabetes. The high blood glucose level is-”

Mrs Hudson couldn’t catch the rest of the excerption. Mycroft grabbed his brother by the shoulder of his immaculate overcoat and dragged him down the stairs and away down the street, briefly nodding to the landlady before vanishing. 

Martha stayed at the door for a very long time, staring after the Holmes brothers with her lips curled into an incredulous smirk.


	2. Where Do The Children Play

“Harry! Wait, Harry! Where are you going?”

“I told you. I’m meeting my friends.”

“But mom said you should take me trick-or-treating!”

“Gosh, John! You’re not a baby anymore, you’re old enough to go on your own. Why don’t you find Mike and go with him?”

With that, the skater girl let go of the vampire boy’s hand. He dropped his hand to the side and hunched his shoulders.

“All right. I’ll meet you right here at midnight. Understood?” when John nodded, a relieved smile spread on Harry’s lips. She ruffled his hair once then disappeared among the crowd.

John sighed and made his way among the zombies and fairies to the nearest door. A mass of boys and girls was already waiting in front of it. John stood next to them and when he cried “Trick or treat!” with them, nobody protested. 

They continued their way down the street together. John wasn’t really trying to make friends, he just enjoyed the small talk and the feeling of being part of a community. 

He was just discussing the details of the new Super Mario with a boy named Charlie, when the high-pitched voice of a girl claimed everyone’s attention.

“What, you came to be rude again? Go away freak, we don’t want you to be here!”

The others seemed to know who she was talking to and picked up the call immediately. In a minute, John couldn’t hear anything but cries of “Freak! Freak!” from every direction.

“Stay away from us,” the girl – who appeared to be the leader of the gang – hissed at the enemy. “Come on guys.”

And they were marching, leaving John and a boy dressed as a pirate behind.

He was standing with his hands laced together behind his back, his huge hat covering his face, its red feathers brushing his shoulders. He was probably a couple of years younger than John, but he was almost taller than him.

“I’m sorry,” John said. The boy raised his head, his eyes shining coldly. 

“For what?” his voice was chilly.

“For what they said,” John shrugged. “Don’t listen to them.”

“I wasn’t going to,” with that, the boy turned on his heels.

“Wait!” John called after him. He looked back with a spark of curiosity in his eyes.

“I’m John. John Watson.”

He studied him for a long minute before speaking.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

John didn’t really know how to draw up his next sentence.

“If you’d like... I mean, you and me,” he motioned towards the paper bag in Sherlock’s hand awkwardly. “We both could... you know...”

“You’re suggesting that we go trick-or-treating together?” Sherlock raised his brow.

“Exactly,” John sighed.

“Good idea. Let’s go,” and Sherlock took off with such speed and determination, John wandered how many houses he’s planning to visit. He would’ve guessed around a thousand.

For a while they were walking in silence. Until John’s curiosity won.

“Can I ask why they called you a-”

“A freak? Well, Sally’s been angry with me ever since I told her that her father left them because he couldn’t stand her mother’s gambling addiction any longer. Touchy, isn’t she?” his lips curled into a half-smile. John stared at him with wide eyes.

They reached a dark door with the numbers 221 on it. Sherlock knocked and a slender, dark-haired woman opened the door.

“Trick or treat!” the boys said simultaneously.

“Sherlock! Who’s your friend?” 

“Mrs Hudson, this is John Watson.”

“Nice to meet you,” John shook her hand, wandering if Sherlock‘s going to introduce him to everyone they’ll visit tonight.

“Mycroft’s a bit too old now to grow trick-or-treating, isn’t he,” Mrs Hudson smirked as she offered them a basket full of candies. 

John fished out a small pack of gummy bears and watched Sherlock frown at the arsenal of sweets in front of him.

“Quite,” he smirked, picking out the contents of the basket candy by candy before tossing them all back. Mrs Hudson watched him with a patient smile. “Did you find someone to take the flat, Mrs Hudson? My mother mentioned that you were looking for a lodger.”

“Oh yes! Yes, I did. She moved in about two months ago-”

“And when did her affair start with your husband?” Sherlock asked with an innocent expression, still picking among the sweets. John could only gape at him.

“What? I- My husband... They’re not-”

“My guess is that about a month ago,” Sherlock gave a knowing smile. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

Mrs Hudson seemed to have run out of words.

Sherlock gave a soft cry of victory and dropped his prey – a cream-filled bonbon – in his bag. 

“Anyway, we should be going. One last question: when did you lose your bracelet?”

“My bracelet... How did you-” Mrs Hudson began, but then she only shook her head. “Let’s see... it’s been almost 3 weeks now.”

“Brilliant. Thanks again, Mrs H. Happy Halloween!” Sherlock smiled at her and headed off, leaving Mrs Hudson and the equally shocked John standing on the top of the stairs.

John quickly said goodbye and ran after him.

“What was that?” he asked when he finally caught up with Sherlock.

“Her husband’s cheating on her. I thought she should know,” Sherlock shrugged.

“But.... how did you know?”

“Her bracelet.”

“The one that’s missing?”

“Exactly,” Sherlock’s eyes were sparkling. “She didn’t lose it. Her husband took it and sold it to satisfy the highly luxurious claims of his lover.”

“How do you know that it’s the lodger?”

“Lucky guess. And her instant denial proved me right. She’s been suspecting it too,” Sherlock trailed off. When he realised John wasn’t walking next to him, he stopped and spun around.

John was standing a couple of steps behind him, staring at him with his mouth open.

Sherlock’s eyes darkened.

“You think it too, don’t you,” he couldn’t explain the disappointment in his own voice. He doesn’t care – then why is what John thinks of him still so important?

“Think what?”

“That I’m a freak,” Sherlock’s voice shook at the last word. He lowered his gaze, waiting for the inevitable. 

“No.”

Sherlock whipped up his head.

“I don’t think that you’re a freak,” John gave him a shy smile. “I think you’re fantastic.”

The smile Sherlock gave John was bright enough to light up half London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this one, Sherlock and John are between the ages of 9 and 13.


	3. It's My Party and I'll Cry If I Want To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Nobody knows where my Johnny has gone..."

“Six in a row!” Stacy announced with a victorious smile and rubbed the back of her best friend. Mary raised her head from the bucket, golden ringlets of her hair falling around her face like a halo, a blood red apple between her teeth. 

“This... must be some kind of record,” John managed to croak out.

Mary eased the fruit out of her mouth and grinned at him – her lips slightly swollen and reddened from the cold water. 

“Her make-up must be waterproof,” John thought, carefully keeping his eyes fixed on her face. He didn’t dare lower his gaze, afraid that the white lace dress became even more transparent since the fifth apple. His face probably had the colour of the apples next to him.

Mary placed the sixth trophy next to him on the table, her hand momentarily brushing his arm then she pulled back and batted her eyelashes at him.

“Take care of these for me, all right?” she asked with her head cocked playfully to the side.

John didn’t want anything but to kiss her.

“I shall guard them with my life, ma’am,” he answered, patting the fake badges pinned to his chest. Thanks to Harry’s military phase from last year, he had a hat, a dark green military coat and an arsenal of false medals to wear.

“Stacy, help me fix my wings, will you,” Mary gripped Stacy’s arm and dragged her towards the stairs. “Be back in a minute.”

And just like that, they were gone, leaving only a sweet, candy-like smell and the faint sound of giggles.

John pulled himself up onto the table and let his head fall back against the wall. He let out a pained sigh. Mike only chuckled next to him.

“She looks like an angel,” he sang in a low voice.

“Oh shut up,” John growled, shutting his eyes.

A party in the basement. At first it sounded lame, but it turned out to be far better than he originally expected. He only came to cover for Harry – who was apparently nowhere to be seen, which would’ve worried John if Mary Morstan hadn’t showed up, dressed as a bloody angel, wearing nothing but a set of feathered wings and short white lace dress.

Andy’s arrival with a couple bottles of vodka to spice up their drinks was also a fortunate turn. John’s head was blissfully buzzing by now, and in the soft, silvery glow of the alcohol, Mary appeared to be even beautiful than when John saw her at school... or in his dreams.

Like a proper bloody angel. Who was now flirting with him.

John couldn’t believe his luck.

The next thing he registered was someone brushing his arm again. He smirked and tilted his head to the side in a hopefully smug way and opened his eyes.

The tangle of feathers in front of him was not what he was expecting.

“Oi!” He let out a cry of surprise and the feathers quivered in answer.

John leaned back and could now see that the feathers were attached to an old black hat. Its owner was bending to reach a plastic cup behind John. He now straightened and a pair of distant, aqua eyes met John’s widened gaze. The hat, paired with those eyes seemed oddly familiar to John.

“Apologies,” rumbled the deep voice and a name popped into John’s head.

“Sherlock? Sherlock... Holmes?”

“In the flesh,” Sherlock nodded, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

“I’m sorry,” John said quickly, hopping down from the table to stand in front of him – and that was not such a wise move, considering the blur that confused his vision for a solid minute. When his vision finally cleared, John raised and raised his head until he finally met Sherlock’s eyes – damn, he has grown since their last meeting. 

He was looking down at him with his head tilted to the side.

“You probably don’t remember me,” John began, forcing his tongue to form whole sentences. “I’m-”

“John Watson. I remember,” the young man said, taking his hat off and running his hand through his messy ebony curls. John watched the swift movement, transfixed, until a softer, higher voice reached his ears.

“Who’s your friend, John?” It was Mary. She and Stacy were standing next to Mike, their eyes glittering.

“Oh yes. This is... Sherlock Holmes,” John gestured at him.

“Hi! I’m Stacy,” the brunette leaned forward, her hand seizing Sherlock’s. He watched him with unblinking eyes, shook her hand firmly once and then pulled back. 

John couldn’t decide who was more disappointed; Mike, as he watched Stacy, or Stacy herself.

“Do you... still live in London?” John asked, trying desperately to remember.

“No. I’m going to Eton,” Sherlock turned back to him. “But I'm guessing you still live in Harper Street.”

“You remember?” John couldn’t explain the spark of pride in his stomach.

“Obviously. My memory is quite good,” Sherlock nodded with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Then you probably remember my sister, Harry as well,” John put his arm on Sherlock’s and turned him towards the stairs where she just appeared. Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly as he looked down to where John was gripping his arm, then followed his gaze.

“Sorry. She must’ve slipped my attention,” he said blankly.

Harry spotted them and made her way through the crowd. 

“Sherlock, this is my sister, Harriet Watson,” John sighed when she approached them.

“Pleasure,” Sherlock nodded towards her, his face placid.

“Harry, you remember Sherlock Holmes, right?”

John didn’t realise that he was still clutching Sherlock’s arm – partly because he was not sure he could stand straight on his own... and partly because it felt just right and Sherlock didn’t protest.

“Mycroft Holmes’ brother?” Harry asked back and Sherlock flinched slightly. “Yeah, hi. I don’t think you’ve met Molly Hooper, have you?”

John only now noticed the small girl, almost hiding behind Harry. With an insecure smile, she stepped forward and murmured something to Sherlock’s feet. 

“Your costume is fabulous, Molly!” Mary tried to ease the awkwardness of the situation. “Let me guess... a zombie nurse?”

“Just a nurse,” Molly mumbled, her voice high and shaky. John could now see how hard she was trembling.

“Molly, what happened?” he asked. There seemed to be not a single drop of blood left in Molly’s face and her eyes were huge like saucers.

“I think...” she began, but her voice broke and only sob escaped her clipped lips. Mary stepped closer and put her arms around her, rubbing her back, murmuring comforting words to her. Finally, Molly took a deep breath and raised her head. 

“I think I saw a murder.”

Her words hung in the air for a couple of seconds. Mary’s arms froze around Molly.

“When?”

Sherlock’s deep, emotionless tone felt like a slap to John. Molly jumped, but his tone seemed to have broken her shock.

“About 15 minutes ago.”

“Where?”

“Just round the corner. In the alley between the blocks.”

“What did you see?”

Mary shot Sherlock a disapproving glance, but the man’s eyes were fixed on Molly with such intensity, John was sure it could burn her face. 

“I- I don’t know... It happened so quickly,” Molly’s voice began shaking again.

“What did you see?” Sherlock’s voice was almost harsh, his eyes blazing.

“There was... this girl,” Molly frowned, struggling to put the pieces together. She raised her head, but when she met Sherlock’s eyes, she quickly dropped her gaze again. “A tall man was following her. I thought- I thought it was her dad or something. But then she started shouting at him. He... pushed her into the alley. She was struggling. Then there was this... sound, like... And then he ran away and she slumped down to the ground. Her face was so pale... there was blood... blood everywhere...”

A full-body shiver shook Molly and she buried her face in Mary’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Molly Hooper,” Sherlock’s voice sounded almost moved, as if someone just told him the most beautiful story. He took a couple of long steps, heading for the door, but John’s surprised cry stopped him. He was still clutching his arm.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“There’s been a murder, John,” Sherlock sounded like he was talking to a 5-year old. 

“Yes. We should call the police and wait-”

“Oh, those sloths will never make it in time. He’ll get away. Or worse, find another girl.”

“And what would you like to do about it, Captain Jack Sparrow?” came Harry’s voice from behind. The mocking tone was supposed to hide the tension – unsuccessfully. 

“Captain Avery,” John and Sherlock said at the same time. Sherlock’s eyes lit up. John dropped his head, blushing.

“I’m going to go and stop him,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly. He looked down at John, “Are you coming?”

John didn’t even realise his lips were moving until he heard himself say, “Oh yes.”

And that was it. Sherlock made his way to the stairs with long steps, dialling a number in the meantime.

“Greg? It’s me. Where are you? Tell your father to get his men ready and come immediately. There’s been a murder. I don’t know, I’m on my way now, give me 2 minutes. Tell your father to hurry!” with that he ended the call and ran up the stairs.

“John?!” It was Mary’s voice that stopped John just at the bottom of the stairs. “Please, John. Stay.”

“Stop playing the hero, Johnny,” Harry joined in. “Let the grown-ups handle it.”

“I can take care of myself, Harry,” John rolled his eyes and turned to follow Sherlock, who was now standing on the top of the stairs, waiting for him. He suddenly had an idea.

“If you don’t let me go, I’ll tell mom that I saw you and Christie Abrams snogging behind the bike shed.”

Sherlock chuckled. The noise seemed to have an even stronger effect on John than the booze.

“Fine. If you go, I’ll tell mom that I saw you kissing _him_ ,” Harry shot a pointed look at Sherlock before returning her eyes to John.

John felt like his face was burning. Sherlock only chuckled again. 

Maybe it was the booze. More likely it was this sound that pushed John over the edge. He looked at Mary, the beautiful, sweet, full of surprises Mary and gave her an apologetic smile. Then he turned back to Harry.

“Tell her. And tell her it was awesome,” he winked and ran up the stairs. From the corner of his eyes, he could catch the moment his words sank in. Mike and Stacy looked at each other, not quite believing. The shock deepened on Molly’s face. Mary stood like she was struck by a lightning, with her mouth open.

And Harry... well, she was busy laughing her head off.

A victorious grin spread on John’s face as they made their way down the street. 

Suddenly, Sherlock stopped abruptly. When he turned to face John, his face was somehow different. John couldn’t find that expression of reserved confidence.  
Instead, it was something like... insecurity.

“Were you serious? About the... kiss?” Even his voice sounded somehow strained. 

John swallowed, his throat clicking, the cold night clearing his head surprisingly quickly.

 _“Do you want to kiss Sherlock?”_ a voice in his head asked him.

And John couldn’t help but give the same answer he gave Sherlock, _“Oh yes.”_

He raised his eyes to meet Sherlock’s. They seemed clouded, the light of the street lamps turning them into the green of the twilight.

_Oh yes._

“We’ll see,” John smirked at him. “We have a murderer to catch before.”

An honest to goodness smile spread on Sherlock’s lips. Then he turned and disappeared into the alley. 

John smiled and followed him with quick steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Age: Late teens, about to graduate from high school.


	4. Blame It On The Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rain.  
> It was the rain that started everything.

The rain.

It was the rain that ended everything.

After 5 dead bodies, gallons of coffee and countless hours of stooping over some old encyclopedia he convinced Mycroft to “borrow” for him from the British Museum, Sherlock was sure he would be able to catch him.

The “Mummy Killer” as the papers used to call him.

_How imaginative._

During the past 5 months, he kidnapped 5 young girls, killed them and somehow managed to mummify their corpses. The fellow was obsessed with ancient Egypt.

But this was no news. Sherlock could tell these after the first look at the first victim. 

What he didn’t know where this madman was hiding. 

But finally he had a track to start upon.

And then came the rain. It washed away the trail of egg and honey – the glue this moron used to keep his home-made sarcophagi together.

Lestrade wanted to close the case. It was the end of October and there were no reports of kidnapped women. Well, none that would fit the profile.

Sherlock asked for 24 more hours.

24 more hours and he would hand over the bastard’s head on a silver plate.

But first of all, he needed coffee.

He took one of Mycroft’s precious umbrellas – of which he always left some at his flat – and made his way to the nearest coffee shop with long, determined steps. He almost bumped into some people, inducing surprised cries and profanities, but he couldn’t care less.

When he reached his destination, he stopped outside the shop to close his umbrella with one swift, elegant move. Then he turned and extended his arm to push open the door – and apparently hit a poor fellow right in the head.

“Oi!” came the surprised cry and Sherlock froze. His mind switched into higher gear as he forced himself to place the voice.

_An alley._

_Two boys crouching next to a dead girl._

_Her hair was red._

_His eyes were blue._

_Red... blue..._

_Police cars._

_A half-smile._

_That shy look in his eyes._

_The bricks under his fingers._

_Oh yes._

_“Goodbye Sherlock.”_

_John. John!_

“John?”

“Sherlock?” John’s voice was a mixture of surprise, joy and pain. He was rubbing the back of his head where Sherlock hit him.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock made a face. 

“Nothing,” John dropped his hand. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting some coffee,” Sherlock bit back the obviously from the end of the sentence.

“Right. Shall we go inside then?”

“Sure.”

 _Freshly roasted coffee. Cinnamon. Cocoa. Cheesecake. Lavender. Cardamom. Chai tea. And... pumpkin?_ The scents mingled in the warm atmosphere sent Sherlock’s head buzzing. He couldn’t quite recall the last time he ate. But that didn’t matter now.

What mattered was ~~the case. John.~~ the case.

Sherlock looked around and was surprised to see the disturbing amount of carved pumpkins and the garlands of black bats hanging above their heads as they made their way to the counter.

“What day is it?” he asked the barista, a girl in her mid-twenties.

“Umm... Halloween?” she was staring at him like she didn’t quite believe the question.

_Halloween._

“Right. Obviously,” Sherlock said. John made a huffed, satisfied sound next to him. “So, I’ll have a...”

“Oh, try our special offer!” the enthusiasm of the girl reminded Sherlock of Molly. “Pumpkin Chai Latte-”

“Anything if there’s caffeine in it.”

John opened his mouth, but when the girl turned to him, he only said “I’ll have the same.”

When she handed over the cups, her fingers curled around Sherlock’s for a brief moment. He frowned and John chuckled next to him.

Sherlock could’ve swore he heard him mutter “Stacy” as they made their way towards the exit.

It was pouring again.

“Damn,” John said, grimacing. “I don’t have an-”

He didn’t even have time to finish the sentence, he was already standing under the umbrella with Sherlock half a step away from him. His fingers traced nervous patterns on his cup.

“Uh.. thanks,” the smile John gave him sent a bolt of electricity around Sherlock’s body. He felt like he didn’t even need that coffee anymore. He took a sip anyway.

John’s smile turned into a grin as he watched Sherlock’s reaction to the drink.

_Chai tea._

_Cream._

_Pumpkin puree._

_Ginger._

_Maple syrup._

_Cardamom._

_Pepper. For goodness’ sake – pepper?_

Sherlock frowned at the cup. The neat handwriting – _female, single, 26 years old, arts mayor, reads a lot, has a dog_ – formed the curled letters of Sherlock’s name - and under that there was a number and a small heart.

“This is rubbish,” Sherlock announced, tossing the cup into a nearby trashcan. John chuckled. The sound seemed to attract Sherlock’s attention more than anything.

 _“Call him a cab,_ ” a voice suggested in his head. “ _You have 24 hours to solve a case.”_

He could just call him a cab.

Or he could walk him home.

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth curled upwards as he asked, “So... where are you going?”

The rain.

It was the rain that started everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Age: Young adults, college students


	5. Sweet Caroline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'd enjoy this more.  
> -SH

The date was going very well.

John turned his eyes heavenwards, sending a silent prayer and relaxed into the seat. The cinema was slowly filling with people around them – mostly couples, tightly curled around each other and groups of teenagers who kept howling and pushing each other. 

“This is going to be fun,” Carol rubbed her hands next to him and took a sip of her coke. John smiled at her. She was a colleague of Clara’s, they met once at her birthday party and she turned out to be much more fun than John originally expected.

This is going to be fun indeed.

The room darkened and the ‘Midnight Movie Marathon’ began. Carol shifted in her seat, resting her head on John’s shoulder. He put her arm around her without thinking, pulling her closer.

The first movie they were planning to watch was Saw. Carol’s never seen it in her life. John could feel the increased drumming of her pulse. She occasionally buried her face in his jacket.

John silently thanked whoever created horror movies.

When his phone vibrated, Carol gave a short scream and jumped.

“Sorry,” John whispered, fishing the damn thing out of his pocket. 

He looked at the screen. The clock said it was 00:46. 

The message was from Sherlock.

Obviously.

_Crime scene. Sleepy Hollow killer. Come immediately.  
-SH _

That was all it said.

 _I’m on a date_ John typed, carefully keeping the _idiot_ to himself.

_So?  
-SH_

_So we’re at the movies. And I’m not going to leave her._

_You can’t bring her to a crime scene. Lestrade would never let her through.  
-SH_

_I wasn’t meaning to._

_Then excuse yourself already.  
-SH_

_Sherlock, I’m having a good time. With her._

_You’d enjoy this more.  
-SH_

_I doubt that._

_The fact that you’ve been busy texting me proves my point.  
-SH _

John glared at the SH with infinite fury, speechless, unable to reply. Then he turned to Carol, who in the meantime leaned back to her side – apparently, to give John more space while texting. There was nothing but sad resignation in her eyes.

John was grateful for the darkness, hiding the burning red colour of his face.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, knowing that he could never make up for what he was doing. “I have to go.”

Carol nodded silently then turned away.

John quickly slipped back into his jacket – which now bore the accusing smell of Carol – and was just about to stand up, when he heard Carol’s voice.

“Say hi to Sherlock for me, will you,” her tone was scarier than any horror movie John has ever seen.

He wanted to say something, anything but I’m sorry again, but his mind was blank.

“Happy Halloween,” he blurted out and then he was gone, staggering through the dark, out to the street. 

John got a cab and took out his phone again.

 _Address?_ he typed.

Sherlock sent it.

_You’re so getting a pumpkin latte for this.  
-JW _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the not too distant past, a couple of years ago, when John and Sherlock are already flatmates.


	6. You Can't Always Get What You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But if you try sometimes well you just might find  
> You get what you need...

John flexed his fingers above the keyboard and leaned back in his chair, satisfied. With one last dramatic move, he hit the ‘Post’ button and voilá, the new entry of the blog has officially been posted.

“Done?” Sherlock called from the kitchen. 

“Yes. Nightmare on Glower Street is finally over,” John stretched and yawned as Sherlock slumped into the chair opposite to him, placing a cup of tea in front of him.

“Nightmare on Glower Street? Really?” Sherlock raised his brow in disbelief.

“Yeah. Happy Halloween, Sherlock,” John felt like wearing a ‘Don’t rain on my parade’ t-shirt.

“Is it Halloween again?” the pain in the detective’s voice made John chuckle.

For a moment, Sherlock was silent. Then he raised his head, his eyes searching John’s.

“It’s been more than 20 years.”

“Since?”

“Since we first met,” the ghost of a smile was hiding in the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. John watched it as a wave of nostalgia washed over him. 

“I still have the hat, you know,” Sherlock’s voice was reserved as usual, but John could sense something underneath.

“You do?” he asked, suddenly very excited to see it.

Sherlock stood up in answer and disappeared for the next 15 minutes. When he reappeared, he was wearing an old pirate hat with pallid, dusty red feathers pinned to it. 

As John approached him, the memory of another Halloween popped into his mind. He was a teenager again, flirting with Mary Morstan in the basement of her house.  
The night he saw Sherlock again. The night Molly Hooper saw a murder.

The night he almost kissed him.

John was now standing right in front of Sherlock. He extended his arm and carefully run his hand along the still silky feathers.

Sherlock stood like a statue, following the movement with only his eyes.

John followed the curve of the feathers which hang down to Sherlock’s shoulder. His hand rested there for a brief moment before continuing its way down Sherlock’s arm. 

John’s fingers brushed the underside of Sherlock’s arm as he twisted his hand and gently slipped his hand into his.

Sherlock watched him, transfixed. When he looked up, John was watching him, his eyes like the starry summer night. He was not quite holding his hand yet – he was waiting for an answer.

In answer, Sherlock laced their fingers together and lifted them to his chest, pulling John closer to him.

He tilted his head back to look up at Sherlock. With that shy smile on his lips and those eyes that had the colour of the sea after rain, he was the most beautiful being John had ever laid eyes upon.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?” Sherlock asked, distracted amusement in his voice.

“We had a murderer to catch,” John answered, a little too innocently.

“And why didn’t you kiss me ever since?” Sherlock continued, his eyes narrowing.

“We had a murderer to catch,” John repeated with a mischievous spark in his eyes.

“We always have a murderer to catch,” Sherlock shook his head, his whole existence channelling ultimate desperation.

" _Prima donna,_ " John thought before raising his free hand to pull Sherlock down to him.

_Oh yes._

At first, Sherlock seemed surprise, like he was not expecting John to make the first move. But after a moment of hesitation, he made a relieved sound in the back of his throat and melted against John.

Sherlock’s lips tasted like tea and mint toothpaste, with something underneath that was completely, solely Sherlock. John wanted to catch that faint, lingering taste. 

Sherlock parted his lips and let out a soft sigh, his tongue tracing the outline of John’s lips.

John raised his hand higher, tangling his fingers in Sherlock’s hair. The movement made the hat fall to the floor. John could feel Sherlock smiling against his lips. He gripped a handful of hair and pulled, trying to get Sherlock even closer.

He wanted to explore every corner of his mouth – and other body parts – with his tongue, to drink in that spicy, smoky taste of his that reminded John of cardamom. 

He wanted to fill himself with Sherlock until nothing else existed in the world, just his lips against his, his silky hair falling around his face, tickling his cheeks and patterns Sherlock’s thumb was drawing on the back of his hand.

Hell, he intended to do just that.

*

Mrs Hudson smiled to herself on the other side of the staircase. Her head popped out just in time to catch John letting go of Sherlock. She adjusted her apron and the tray she was holding and shouted,

“Boys! I made some pumpkin pie!”

She counted to 5, then stepped front. Sherlock was leaning against the doorframe with John standing behind him, both of them trying desperately to bite back the grin that was about to spread on their faces.

“Thanks, Mrs Hudson,” Sherlock snatched one and stuffed it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and nodded approvingly. John stepped forward and carried the tray into the flat with Sherlock at his heels, already reaching for the next. They just solved a case, he probably hasn’t eaten in days. 

John batted his hand away from the slice he was just about to pick, chuckling. When he raised his head, he saw Mrs Hudson watching them with a knowing, warm flicker in her eyes. John unconsciously licked his lips.

“Happy Halloween boys,” Mrs Hudson said before turning on her heels and heading downstairs.

Or, at least, pretending to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not saying it's the Halloween of 2012, but it's close...
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Your comments would be appreciated ^^

**Author's Note:**

> Mrs Hudson's first name is Martha based on the orginal Conan Doyle story, "His Last Bow".


End file.
